The Project Gutenberg eBook ofPeter SchlemihlThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Peter SchlemihlAuthor: Adelbert von ChamissoIllustrator: George CruikshankTranslator: John BowringRelease date: June 26, 2007 [eBook #21943]Language: EnglishCredits: Transcribed from the 1861 Robert Hardwicke edition by David Price*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PETER SCHLEMIHL ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: Peter SchlemihlAuthor: Adelbert von ChamissoIllustrator: George CruikshankTranslator: John BowringRelease date: June 26, 2007 [eBook #21943]Language: EnglishCredits: Transcribed from the 1861 Robert Hardwicke edition by David Price
Title: Peter Schlemihl
Author: Adelbert von ChamissoIllustrator: George CruikshankTranslator: John Bowring
Author: Adelbert von Chamisso
Illustrator: George Cruikshank
Translator: John Bowring
Release date: June 26, 2007 [eBook #21943]
Language: English
Credits: Transcribed from the 1861 Robert Hardwicke edition by David Price
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PETER SCHLEMIHL ***
Transcribed from the 1861 Robert Hardwicke edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org
FROM THE GERMANofADELBERT VON CHAMISSO:
translated
BY SIR JOHN BOWRING, LL.D., &c.
WITH PLATES BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”—Shakspeake.
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”—Shakspeake.
THIRD EDITION.
LONDON:ROBERT HARDWICKE, 192, PICCADILLY.
1861.
Schlemihl giving his shadow away
london:robert hardwicke,printer,192,piccadilly.
Adelung said to me one day at Petersburg—“Have you read Peter Schlemihl?”—“No.”—“If you read it, you will translate it.”—I have translated it.
The story is a moral one. I leave its development to my readers. It would be little flattering to them to suspect they required my assistance, in order to discover the obvious lessons it conveys.
I have not scrupled to introduce a few verbal alterations; but the deviations from the original are very trifling.
The Translator.
Come to the land of shadows for awhile,And seek for truth and wisdom! Here below,In the dark misty paths of fear and woe,We weary out our souls and waste our toil;But if we harvest in the richer soilOf towering thoughts—where holy breezes blow,And everlasting flowers in beauty smile—No disappointment shall the labourer know.Methought I saw a fair and sparkling gemIn this rude casket—but thy shrewder eye,Wangner! a jewell’d coronet could descry.Take, then, the bright, unreal diadem!Worldlings may doubt and smile insultingly,The hidden stores of truth are not forthem.
J. B.
We must, dear Edward, protect the history of poor Schlemihl—and so protect it that it may be concealed from the eyes that are not to look into it. This is a disagreeable business; for of such eyes there is a multitude, and what mortal can decide what shall be the fate of a MS. which is more hard to guard than even an uttered word. In truth, I feel as if my head were turning round, and in my anguish jump into the abyss—let the whole affair be printed!
But, Edward! there are really stronger and better grounds for this decision. Unless I am wholly deceived, there beat in our beloved Germany many hearts which are able and worthy to understand poor Schlemihl, and a tranquil smile will light upon the countenance of many an honest countryman of ours at thebitter sport in which life with him—and the simple sport in which he with himself is engaged. And you, Edward, you, looking into this so sincerely-grounded book, and thinking how many unknown hearts this may learn with us to love it—you will let a drop of balsam fall into the deep wound, which death hath inflicted upon you and all that love you.
And to conclude: there is—I know there is, from manifold experience—a genius that takes charge of every printed book and delivers it into the appropriate hands, and if not always, yet very often keeps at home the undeserving: that genius holds the key to every true production of heart and soul, and opens and closes it with never-failing dexterity.
To this genius, my much beloved Schlemihl! I confide thy smiles and thy tears, and thus to God commend them.
FOUQUÉ.
Neunhausen,May31, 1814.
We have done, then, the desperate deed: there is Schlemihl’s story which we were to preserve to ourselves as our own secret, and lo! not only Frenchmen and Englishmen, Dutchmen and Spaniards have translated it, and Americans have reprinted it from the English text, as I announced to my own erudite Berlin, but now in our beloved Germany a new edition appears with the English etchings, which the illustrious Cruikshank sketched from the life, and wider still will the story be told. Not a word didst thou mutter to me in 1814, of the publication of the MS., and did I not deem thy reckless enterprise suitably punished by the complaints of our Chamisso, in his Voyage round the World from 1815 to 1818—complaints urged in Chili and Kamtschatka, and uttered even to his departed friend Tameramaiaof Owahee, I should even now demand of you crowning retribution.
However—this by the by—bygones are bygones—and you are right in this—that many, many friendly ones have looked upon the little book with affection during the thirteen eventful years since it saw the world’s light. I shall never forget the hour when I first read it to Hoffmann. He was beside himself with delight and eagerness, and hung upon my lips till I got to the end. He could not wait, not he, to make the personal acquaintance of the poet;—but though he hates all imitation, he could not withstand the temptation to copy—though not very felicitously—the idea of the lost shadow in the lost mirror picture of Crasinus Spekhn, in his tale of the “Last Night of the Year.” Yes, even among children has our marvellous history found its way, for on a bright winter evening, as I was going up the Borough-street with its narrator, a boy busied with his sledge laughed at him, upon which he tucked the boy under his bear-skin mantle—you know it well—and while he carried him he remained perfectly quiet until he was set down on the footway—and then—havingmade off to a distance, where he felt safe as if nothing had happened, he shouted aloud to his captor—“Nay, stop, Peter Schlemihl!”
Methinks, the honourable scarecrow, clad now in trist and fashionable attire, may be welcome to those who never saw him in his modest kurtka of 1814. These and those will be surprised in the botanizing, circumnavigating—the once well-appointed Royal Prussian officer, in the historiographer of the illustrious Peter Schlemihl, to discover a lyric whose poetical heart is rightly fixed, whether he sing in Malayan or Lithuanian.
Thanks, then, dear Fouqué, heartfelt thanks, for the launching of the first edition, and with our friends, receive my wishes for the prosperity of the second.
Edward Hitzig.
Berlin,January, 1827.
* * * * *
With the second edition of Schlemihl, appeared Chamisso’s Songs and Ballads. His Travels round the World, have also been published. Among his poetry are translations from various languages.
More than twenty years ago I translated “Peter Schlemihl.” I had the advantage of the pen and genius of George Cruikshank, to make the work popular, and two editions were rapidly sold.
At that time the real author was unknown. Everybody attributed it to Lamotte Fouqué, on whose literary shoulders, indeed, Adelbert von Chamisso placed the burden of its responsibilities.
The appearance of the English edition, I have reason to know—thanks to the merit of Cruikshank’s original and felicitous sketches—excited the greatest delight in the mind of Chamisso. In his autobiography he says that “Peter” had been kindly received in Germany, but in England had been renowned (volksthumlich).
Several English translations have since occupied the field. Mine, as the first-born, naturally claims its own heritage, though it has been long out of print, and in the shape of a third edition, commends itself anew to public patronage.
John Bowring.
January, 1861.
Well! years and years have pass’d,—and lo! thy writingComes to my hands again,—and, strange to say,I think of times when the world’s school, invitingOur early friendship, new before us lay;—Now I can laugh at foolish shame—delightingIn thee, for I am old—my hair is grey,—And I will call thee friend, as then—not coldly,But proudly to the world—and claim thee boldly.
My dear, dear Friend! the cunning air hath led meThrough paths less dark and less perplexed than thine,Struggling for blue, bright dawnings, have I sped me,But little, little glory has been mine.Yet can the Grey Man boast not that he had meFast bymyshadow! Nay! he must resignHis claims on me,—my shadow’s mine. I boast it,—I had it from the first, and never lost it.
On me—though guiltless as a child—the throngFlung all their mockery of thy naked being,—And is the likeness then so very strong?They shouted formyshadow—which, though seeing,They swore they saw not—and, still bent on wrong,Said they were blind; and then put forth their glee inPeals upon peals of laughter! Well—we bearWith patience—aye, with joy—the conscience clear.
And what—what is the Shadow? may I ask ye,Who am myself so wearyingly asked.Is it too high a problem, then, to task ye?And shall not the malignant world be tasked?The flights of nineteen thousand days unmask ye,They have brought wisdom—in whose trains I basked,And while I gave to shadows, being—sawBeing, as shadows, from life’s scene withdraw.
Give me thy hand, Schlemihl—take mine, my friend:On, on,—we leave the future to the Grey Man,Careless about the world,—our hearts shall blendIn firmer, stronger union—come away, man!We shall glide fast and faster towards life’s end.Aye! let them smile or scorn, for all they say, man,The tempests will be still’d that shake the deep,And we in part sleep our untroubled sleep.
ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO.
Berlin,August, 1834.
You forget nobody, and surely you must remember one Peter Schlemihl, whom you now and then met at my house in former days; a long-shanked fellow, who had the credit of awkwardness because he was unpolished, and whose negligence gave him an air of habitual laziness. I loved him—you cannot have forgotten, Edward, how often, in the spring-time of our youth, he was the subject of our rhymes. Once I recollect introducing him to a poetical tea-party, where he fell asleep while I was writing, even without waiting to hear anything read. And that brings to my mind a witty thing you said about him; you had often seen him, heaven knows where and when, in an oldblackkurtka,[20]which in fact he always wore, and you declared “he would be a lucky fellow if his soul were half as immortal as his kurtka!” So little did you value him. I loved him, I repeat; and to this Schlemihl, whom I had not seen for many a year, we owe the following sheets. To you, Edward, to you only, my nearest, dearest friend—my better self, from whom I can hide no secret,—to you I commit them; to you only, and of course to Fouqué, who, like yourself, is rooted in my soul—but to him as a friend alone, and not as a poet. You can easily imagine, how unpleasant it would be to me, if the secret reposed by an honourable man, confiding in my esteem and sincerity, should be exposed in the pillory of anépopée, or in any way distorted, as if some miserable witling had engendered unnatural and impossible things. Indeed, I must frankly own it is a very shame that a history, which another and cleverer hand might have exhibited in all its comic force, has been reduced to mere insipidityby our good man’s pen. What would not John Paul Richter have made of it! In a word, my dear friend, many who are yet alive may be named, but—
One word more on the way in which these leaves came into my hands. Yesterday morning early—as soon as I was up—they were presented to me. A strange man with a long grey beard, wearing a black, worn-out kurtka, with a botanical case suspended at his side, and slippers over his boots, on account of the damp rainy weather, inquired after me, and left these papers behind him. He pretended he came from Berlin.
Adelbert von Chamisso.
Kunersdorf, 27Sept., 1813.
At last, after a fortunate, but to me most tedious passage, we reached our destined haven. As soon as the boat had landed me on the shore, I loaded myself with my little possessions, and forcing my way through the swarming crowd, entered the first and meanest house distinguished by a sign-board. I ordered a chamber; the waiter measured me with a glance, and sent me up to the garret.
I ordered fresh water, and inquired for the abode of Mr. Thomas Jones. “Near the North gate, the first country house on the right-hand side; a large new house of red and white marble, supported by many pillars.” Well; it was yet early; I opened my bundle, laid out my newly-turned black coat, clad myself in my sprucest garments, put my letter of introduction into my pocket, and bent my way to the man, who, I modestly hoped, was destined to befriend me.
After I had gone through the long North-street, and reached the gate, I saw the columns glimmering through the green trees. “It is here, then,” I thought. I wiped the dust from my feet with my pocket-handkerchief, arranged my cravat, and rung the bell. The door flew open, the servants narrowly examined me in the hall, but the porter at last announced me, and I had the honour to be summoned into the park, where Mr. Jones was walking with a small company. I knew him instantly by his portly self-complacency. He received me tolerably well—as a rich man is wont to receive a poor dependent devil; looked towards me, but without turning from the rest of the company, and took from me the letter I held in my hand. “Aye, aye! from my brother; I have not heard from him a long time. Is he well? There”—he continued, addressing the company without waiting for an answer, and pointed with the letter to a hill, “There I have ordered a new building to be erected.” He broke the seal, but not the conversation, of which wealth became the subject. “He who is not the master of at least a million,” he interposed, “forgive the expression, is a ragamuffin.”—“That is true, indeed,” exclaimed I, with full, overflowing feeling. He must havebeen pleased with the expression of my concurrence, for he smiled on me and said, “Remain here, young friend: I shall perhaps have time to tell you, by and by, what I think of it.” He pointed to the letter, put it into his pocket, and turned again to the company. He then offered his arm to a young lady; other gentlemen were busied with other fair ones; every one found some one to whom he attached himself, and they walked towards the rose-encircled hill.
I lingered idly behind, for not a soul deemed me worthy of notice. The company was extremely cheerful, jocular, and witty; they spoke seriously of trifles, and triflingly of serious matters; and I observed they unconcernedly directed their satires against the persons and the circumstances of absent friends. I was too great a stranger to understand much of these discussions; too much distressed and self-retired to enter into the full merit of these enigmas.
We reached the rose-grove. The lovely Fanny, the queen, as it seemed, of the day, was capricious enough to wish to gather for herself a blooming branch; a thorn pricked her, and a stream, as bright as if from damask roses, flowed over her delicate hand. This accident put the whole company in motion. English court-plaister was instantly inquired after. A silent,meagre, pale, tall, elderly man, who stood next to me, and whom I had not before observed, instantly put his hand into the close-fitting breast-pocket of his old-fashioned, grey taffetan coat, took out a small pocket-book, opened it, and with a lowly bow gave the lady what she had wished for; she took it without any attention to the giver, and without a word of thanks. The wound was bound up, and they ascended the hill, from whose brow they admired the wide prospect over the park’s green labyrinth, extending even to the immeasurable ocean.
It was indeed a grand and noble sight. A light speck appeared on the horizon between the dark waters and the azure heaven. “A telescope, here!” cried the merchant; and before any one from the crowds of servants appeared to answer his call, the grey man, as if he had been applied to, had already put his hand into his coat-pocket: he had taken from it a beautiful Dollond, and handed it over to Mr. Jones; who, as soon as he had raised it to his eye, informed the company that it was the ship which had sailed yesterday, driven back by contrary winds. The telescope passed from hand to hand, but never again reached that of its owner. I, however, looked on the old man with astonishment,not conceiving how the large machine had come out of the tiny pocket. Nobody else seemed surprised, and they appeared to care no more about the grey man than about me.
Refreshments were produced; the rarest fruits of every climate, served in the richest dishes. Mr. Jones did the honours with easy, dignified politeness, and for the second time directed a word to me: “Eat then, you did not get this on your voyage.” I bowed, but he did not observe me: he was talking to somebody else.
They would willingly have remained longer on the sod of the sloping hill, and have stretched themselves over the outspread turf, had they not feared its dampness. “Now it would be enchanting,” said somebody of the company, “if we had Turkey carpets to spread here.” The wish was hardly expressed ere the man in the grey coat had put his hand into his pocket, and with modest, even humble demeanour, began to draw out a rich embroidered Turkey carpet. It was received by the attendants as a matter of course, and laid down on the appointed spot. Without further ceremony the company took their stand upon it. I looked with new surprise on the man, the pocket, and the carpet, which was about twenty paces long, and ten broad. I rubbed my eyes, not knowingwhat to think, and especially as nobody else seemed moved by what had passed.
I longed to learn something about the man, and to inquire who he was; but I knew not to whom to apply, for I really was more afraid of the gentlemen-servants than of the gentlemen served. I mustered up my spirits at last, and addressed myself to a young man who seemed less pretending than the rest, and who had oftener been left to himself. I gently asked him, who that courteous gentleman was in grey clothes.—“Who? he that looks like an end of thread blown away from a tailor’s needle?”—“Yes, he that stands alone.”—“I do not know him,” he answered; and, determined, as it seemed, to break off the discussion with me, turned away, and entered on a trifling conversation with somebody else.
The sun now began to shine more intensely, and to annoy the ladies. The lovely Fanny carelessly addressed the grey man, whom, as far as I know, nobody had addressed before, with the frivolous question: “had he a marquee?” He answered with a low reverence, as if feeling an undeserved honour had been done him; his hand was already in his pocket, from which I perceived canvas, bars, ropes, iron-work—everything, in a word, belonging tothe most sumptuous tent, issuing forth. The young men helped to erect it; it covered the whole extent of the carpet, and no one appeared to consider all this as at all extraordinary.
If my mind was confused, nay terrified, with these proceedings, how was I overpowered when the next-breathed wish brought from his pocket three riding horses. I tell you, three great and noble steeds, with saddles and appurtenances! Imagine for a moment, I pray you, three saddled horses from the same pocket which had before produced a pocket-book, a telescope, an ornamented carpet twenty paces long and ten broad, a pleasure-tent of the same size, with bars and iron-work! If I did not solemnly assure you that I had seen it, with my own eyes, you would certainly doubt the narrative.
Though there was so much of embarrassment and humility in the man, and he excited so little attention, yet his appearance to me had in it something so appalling, that I was not able to turn away my eyes from him. At last I could bear it no longer.
I determined to steal away from the company; and this was easy for one who had acted a part so little conspicuous. I wished to hasten back to the city, and to return in pursuit of my fortune the following morning to Mr. J., and ifI could muster up courage enough, to inquire something about the extraordinary grey man. Oh, had I been thus privileged to escape!
I had hastily glided through the rose-grove, descended the hill, and found myself on a wide grassplot, when, alarmed with the apprehension of being discovered wandering from the beaten path, I looked around me with enquiring apprehension. How was I startled when I saw the old man in the grey coat behind, and advancing towards me! He immediately took off his hat, and bowed to me more profoundly than any one had ever done before. It was clear he wished to address me, and without extreme rudeness I could not avoid him. I, in my turn, uncovered myself, made my obeisance, and stood still with a bare head, in the sunshine, as if rooted there. I shook with terror while I saw him approach; I felt like a bird fascinated by a rattlesnake. He appeared sadly perplexed, kept his eyes on the ground, made several bows, approached nearer, and with a low and trembling voice, as if he were asking alms, thus accosted me:—
“Will the gentleman forgive the intrusion of one who has stopt him in this unusual way? I have a request to make, but pray pardon . . .”—“In the name of heaven, Sir!” I cried out in my anguish, “what can I do for one who—” Weboth started back, and methought both blushed deeply.
After a momentary silence he again began: “During the short time when I enjoyed the happiness of being near you, I observed, Sir,—will you allow me to say so—I observed, with unutterable admiration, the beautiful, beautiful shadow in the sun, which with a certain noble contempt, and perhaps without being aware of it, you threw off from your feet; forgive me this, I confess, too daring intrusion, but should you be inclined to transfer it to me?”
He was silent, and my head turned round like a water-wheel. What could I make of this singular proposal for disposing of my shadow? He is crazy! thought I; and with an altered tone, yet more forcible, as contrasted with the humility of his own, I replied:
“How is this, good friend? Is not your own shadow enough for you? This seems to me a whimsical sort of bargain indeed.” He began again, “I have in my pocket many matters which might not be quite unacceptable to the gentleman; for this invaluable shadow I deem any price too little.”
A chill came over me: I remembered what I had seen, and knew not how to address him who I had just ventured to call my good friend.I spoke again, and assumed an extraordinary courtesy to set matters in order.
“Pardon, Sir, pardon your most humble servant, I do not quite understand your meaning; how can my shadow—” He interrupted me: “I only beg your permission to be allowed to lift up your noble shadow, and put it in my pocket: how to do it is my own affair. As a proof of my gratitude for the gentleman, I leave him the choice of all the jewels which my pocket affords; the genuine divining rods, mandrake roots, change pennies, money extractors, the napkins of Rolando’s Squire, and divers other miracle-workers,—a choice assortment; but all this is not fit for you—better that you should have Fortunatus’s wishing-cap, restored spick and span new; and also a fortune-bag which belonged to him.” “Fortunatus’s fortune-bag!” I exclaimed; and, great as had been my terror, all my senses were now enraptured by the sound. I became dizzy,—and nothing but double ducats seemed sparkling before my eyes.
“Condescend, Sir, to inspect and make a trial of this bag.” He put his hand into his pocket, and drew from it a moderately sized, firmly-stitched purse of thick cordovan, with two convenient leather cords hanging to it, which he presented to me. I instantly dippedinto it, drew from it ten pieces of gold, and ten more, and ten more, and yet ten more;—I stretched out my hand. “Done! the bargain is made; I give you my shadow for your purse.” He grasped my hand, and knelt down behind me, and with wonderful dexterity I perceived him loosening my shadow from the ground from head to foot;—he lifted it up;—he rolled it together and folded it, and at last put it into his pocket. He then stood erect, bowed to me again, and returned back to the rose grove. I thought I heard him laughing softly to himself. I held, however, the purse tight by its strings—the earth was sun-bright all around me—and my senses were still wholly confused.
At last I came to myself, and hastened from a place where apparently I had nothing more to do. I first filled my pockets with gold, then firmly secured the strings of the purse round my neck, taking care to conceal the purse itself in my bosom. I left the park unnoticed, reached the high road, and bent my way to the town. I was walking thoughtfully towards the gate, when I heard a voice behind me: “Holla! young Squire! holla! don’t you hear?” I looked round—an old woman was calling after me;—“Take care, sir, take care—you have lost your shadow!”—“Thanks, good woman.”—I threw her a piece of gold for her well-meant counsel, and walked away under the trees.
At the gate I was again condemned to hear from the sentinel, “Where has the gentleman left his shadow?” and immediately afterwards a couple of women exclaimed, “Good heavens! the poor fellow has no shadow!” I began to be vexed, and carefully avoided walking in thesun. This I could not always do: for instance, in the Broad-street, which I was next compelled to cross; and as ill-luck would have it, at the very moment when the boys were being released from school. A confounded hunch-backed vagabond—I see him at this moment—had observed that I wanted a shadow. He instantly began to bawl out to the young tyros of the suburbs, who first criticised me, and then bespattered me with mud: “Respectable people are accustomed to carry their shadows with them when they go into the sun.” I scattered handfuls of gold among them to divert their attention; and, with the assistance of some compassionate souls, sprang into a hackney coach. As soon as I found myself alone in the rolling vehicle, I began to weep bitterly. My inward emotion suggested to me, that even as in this world gold weighs down both merit and virtue, so a shadow might possibly be more valuable than gold itself; and that, as I had sacrificed my riches to my integrity on other occasions, so now I had given up my shadow for mere wealth; and what ought, what could become of me?
I continued still sadly discomposed, when the coach stopped before the old tavern. I was shocked at the thought of again entering thatvile garret. I sent for my baggage, took up the miserable bundle with contempt, threw the servants some pieces of gold, and ordered to be driven to the principal hotel. The house faced the north, so I had nothing to fear from the sun. I dismissed the driver with gold, selected the best front room, and locked myself in as soon as possible.
And how do you imagine I employed myself? Oh! my beloved Chamisso, I blush to confess it even to you. I drew forth the luckless purse from my bosom, and impelled by a sort of madness which burned and spread within me like a furious conflagration, I shook out gold, and gold, and gold, and still more gold;—strewed it over the floor, trampled on it, and made it tinkle, and feasting my weak senses on the glitter and the sound, I added pile to pile, till I sunk exhausted on the golden bed. I rolled about and wallowed in delicious delirium. And so the day passed by, and so the evening. My door remained unopened, and night found me still reposing on the gold, when sleep at length overcame me.
Then I dreamed of you. I fancied I was standing close to the glass door of your little apartment, and saw you sitting at your work-table, between a skeleton and a parcel of driedplants. Haller, Humboldt, and Linnæus lay open before you;—on your sofa were a volume of Goethe, andThe Magic Ring.[37]I looked at you for a long time, then at everything around you, and then at you again; but you moved not—you breathed not—you were dead.
I awoke: it seemed to be yet early—my watch had stopped;—I felt as if I had been bastinadoed—yet both hungry and thirsty, for since the previous morning I had eaten nothing. With weariness and disgust I pushed away from me the gold, which but a little time before had satiated my foolish heart: I now in my perplexity knew not how to dispose of it. But it could not remain there. I tried to put it again into the purse—no; none of my windows opened upon the sea. I was obliged to content myself by dragging it with immense labour and difficulty to a large cupboard, which stood in a recess, where I packed it up. I left only a few handfuls lying about. When I had finished my labour, I sat down exhausted in an arm-chair, and waited till the people of the house began to stir. I ordered breakfast, and begged the landlord to be with me as soon as practicable.
With this man I arranged the future management of my household. He recommended tome for my personal servant a certainBendel, whose honest and intelligent countenance instantly interested me. It was he, who from that moment accompanied me through life with a sympathizing attachment, and shared with me my gloomy destiny. I passed the whole day in my apartments with servants out of place, shoemakers, tailors, and shopkeepers; I provided myself with all necessaries, and bought large quantities of jewels and precious stones, merely to get rid of some of my piles of gold; but it seemed scarcely possible to diminish the heap.
Meanwhile I contemplated my situation with most anxious doubts. I dared not venture one step from my door, and at evening ordered forty wax-lights to be kindled in my saloon, before I left the dark chamber. I thought with horror of the dreadful scene with the schoolboys, and determined, whatever it might cost, once more to sound public opinion. The moon, at this season, illumined the night. Late in the evening I threw a wide cloak around me, pulled down my hat over my eyes, and glided out of the house trembling like a criminal. I walked first along the shadows of the houses to a remote open place; I then abandoned their protection, stepped out into the moonshine, resolvingto learn my destiny from the lips of the passers-by.
But spare me, my friend, the painful repetition of what I was condemned to undergo! The deepest pity seemed to inspire the fairer sex; but my soul was not less wounded by this than by the contumely of the young, and the proud disdain of the old, especially of those stout and well-fed men, whose dignified shadows seemed to do them honour. A lovely, graceful maiden, apparently accompanying her parents, who seemed not to look beyond their own footsteps, accidentally fixed her sparkling eyes upon me. She obviously started as she remarked my shadowless figure; she hid her beautiful face beneath her veil, hung down her head, and passed silently on.
I could bear it no longer. Salt streams burst forth from my eyes, and with a broken heart I hurried tremblingly back into darkness. I was obliged to grope along by the houses, in order to feel my steps secure, and slowly and late I reached my dwelling.
That night was a sleepless one. My first care at daybreak was to order the man in the grey coat to be everywhere sought for. Perchance I might be lucky enough to discover him—and oh! what bliss if he as well as I repented ofour foolish bargain. I sent for Bendel; he seemed both apt and active. I described to him minutely the man who held in his possession that treasure, without which life was but a torment to me. I told him the time, the place where I had seen him; particularized to him all the persons who could assist his inquiries; and added, that he should especially ask after a Dollond’s telescope, a gold embroidered Turkish carpet, a superb tent, and also the black riding horses; whose history,—I did not state how,—was closely connected with that of the unintelligible man, whom nobody seemed to notice, and whose appearance had destroyed the peace and happiness of my life.
When I had done, I brought out as much gold as I was able to carry. I laid jewels and precious stones to a still greater amount upon the pile. “Bendel,” I said, “this levels many a path, and makes many a difficult thing easy; be not sparing, you know I am not; but go and rejoice your master with the information on which his only hopes are built.”
He went—he returned—and returned late and sorrowful. None of the merchant’s servants, none of his guests—he had spoken to all—knew anything about the man in the grey coat. The new telescope was there, but theywere all ignorant whence it came. The tent and the carpet were extended on the same hill; the lackeys boasted of their master’s magnificence: but none knew from what place these new valuables had come. They had administered to his pleasures; and he did not disturb his rest to inquire into their origin. Their horses were in the stalls of the young men who had rode them; and they lauded the generosity of the merchant, who had that day requested they would keep them as presents. Such was the light that Bendel threw upon this extraordinary history, and for this fruitless result received my grateful thanks. I beckoned gloomily to him that he should leave me alone. But he resumed: “I have informed you, sir, of everything connected with the affair which most interests you. I have also a message to deliver, which was given to me this morning early, by a person whom I met at the door, while I was going out on the business in which I have been so unfortunate. His own words were, “Say to Mr. Peter Schlemihl, he will see me here no more, as I am going to cross the sea; and a favourable wind beckons me to the haven. But after a year and a day I shall have the honour to seek him out, and perhaps to propose to him another arrangement whichmay then be to his liking. Remember me most obediently to him, and assure him of my thanks.” I asked him who he was: and he replied, that you knew.
“What was the man’s appearance?” I cried, full of forebodings. And Bendel described the man in the grey coat, feature by feature, word for word, precisely as he had depicted him, when inquiring about him.
“Miserable mortal!” exclaimed I, wringing my hands, “it was he! it was he himself!” He looked as if scales had fallen from his eyes. “Yes, it was he, it was indeed he!” he cried out in agony; “and I, silly, deluded one, I did not know him—I did not know him—I have betrayed my master!”
He broke out into the loudest reproaches against himself. He wept bitterly; his despair could not but excite my pity. I ministered consolation to him; assured him again and again that I did not doubt his fidelity, and sent him instantly to the haven, to follow the strange man’s steps if possible. But, on that very morning, many vessels which had been kept by contrary winds back in port, had put to sea, all destined to distant lands and other climes; the grey man had disappeared trackless as a shade.
Of what use would wings be to him who is fast bound in iron fetters? He must still despair, and despair with deeper melancholy. I lay like Taffner by his stronghold, far removed from any earthly consolation, starving in the midst of riches. They gave me no enjoyment; I cursed them; they had cut me off from mankind. Concealing my gloomy secret within me, I trembled before the meanest of my servants, whom I could not but envy: for he had his shadow, and could show himself in the sun. Alone in my apartments, I mourned through harassing days and nights, and anguish fed upon my heart.
One individual was constantly sorrowing under my eyes. My faithful Bendel ceased not to torment himself with silent reproaches that he had deceived the confidence of his generous master, and had not recognized him whom he was sent to seek, and with whom my mournful fate seemed strongly intertwined. I could not blame him: I recognized too well in thatevent the mysterious nature of the unknown being.
But, to leave nothing untried, I sent Bendel with a costly brilliant ring to the most celebrated painter in the city, requesting he would pay me a visit. He came—I ordered away my servants—locked the door—sat myself by him; and after praising his art, I came with a troubled spirit to the great disclosure, having first enjoined on him the strictest secresy.
“Mr. Professor,” I began, “can you paint a false shadow for one, who in the most luckless way in the world has lost his own?” “You mean a reflected shadow?”—“To be sure.” “But,” he added, “through what awkwardness, or what negligence, could he lose his own shadow?”—“How it happened,” replied I, “that does not matter, but—” I impudently began again with a lie,—“last winter, when he was travelling in Russia, it froze so severely, during the extraordinary cold, that his shadow was frozen to the ground, and it was impossible for him to get it free.”
“And I,” said the professor, “could only make him a sheet shadow, which he would be apt to lose again on the slightest motion; especially for one whose genuine shadow was so badly fixed, as must be inferred from youraccount; the simplest and wisest determination for him who has no shadow, is not to go in the sun.” He stood up and walked away, after having sent through me a piercing glance which I could not endure. I sunk back on my chair, and veiled my face with my hands.
Thus Bendel found me when he entered. He saw his master’s sorrow, and wanted silently and respectfully to turn back. I raised my eyes: the weight of my grief was upon me—I determined to divide it. “Bendel!” I called to him; “Bendel! you, who alone see and respect my sufferings, not curiously prying into them, but secretly and devotedly sharing them with me—come to me, Bendel, be the nearest to my heart. The stores of my gold I have not concealed from you: from you I will not hide the store of my anguish. Bendel, forsake me not. You know I am wealthy, kind, and generous, and perhaps you think the world should honour me for that: but, you see, I shun the world; I hide myself from its observation. Bendel, the world has judged me and condemned me—and Bendel, too, perhaps, will turn from me when he possesses my dreadful secret. Bendel! I am indeed rich, liberal, and independent, but—heavens! I have no shadow!”
“No shadow!” echoed the good young man in an agony, while bright tears broke from his eyelids; “Alas! alas! that I should have been born to serve a shadowless master!” He was silent, and I hid my face in my hands.
At last I tremblingly said, “Bendel! you have now my confidence—betray it if you will—away! and bear witness against me.” He seemed struggling with internal emotion; he threw himself at my feet, seized my hand, and bathed it with his tears. “No,” he cried, “let the world say what it may, I will not leave my good master for the sake of a shadow; I will do what is right and not what is prudent: I will remain with you, I will lend you my shadow; I will help you where I can; I will weep with you.” I fell on his neck, overcome with such an unexpected self-devotion. I felt assured he did nothing for the sake of gold.
From that moment my fate and my mode of life changed. It is indescribable how carefully Bendel sought to cover my defects. He was ever before and with me, foreseeing everything, arranging everything, and where unexpected danger threatened, covering me with his shadow, for he was fortunately taller and stouter than I. Again I mingled with mankind, and acted my part in the scenes of the world. Itwas necessary to assume much singularity and queerness; but these sit well upon a rich man, and while the truth lay concealed, I enjoyed all the honour and esteem to which wealth has a claim. I looked with more calmness on the advancing year and day, whose close was to bring with them the visit of the mysterious unknown.
I was well aware that I could not remain long in the place where I had been seen without a shadow, and where I might so easily be betrayed; and I thought perhaps more on this, remembering how I had first shown myself to the merchant, which was now a sad recollection to me; consequently I would only make an experiment here, that I might learn how to introduce myself hereafter with more ease and confidence; nevertheless it happened that I was momentarily bound down by my vanity; which is the firm ground in man where the anchor fixes itself.
The beautiful Fanny, whom I again met in another situation, bestowed on me some attention, without recollecting that she had seen me before; for now I had both wit and understanding. When I talked, all listened, and I could not imagine when or how I had acquired the talent of leading and directing the conversation.The impression which I perceived I had produced on the fair one, made me, as she would have me, a very fool; and from this time I pursued her, where only I could pursue her, through shades and twilight. I was vain enough to make her vain of me; yet I could not succeed, notwithstanding all my efforts to drive the intoxication from my head to my heart.
Schlemihl and Fanny
But why enter upon the details of an everyday story? You know, and have often told me, how other wealthy people spend their days. From an old, well-known drama, in which I, out of mere good-humour, was playing a hacknied part, arose a singular and incredible catastrophe, unexpected by me, or by Fanny, or by anybody.
According to my custom, one lovely evening I had assembled a large company in an illuminated garden. I was wandering about with my divinity arm-in-arm, separated from the rest of the guests, and endeavouring to amuse her with well-timed conversation; she looked modestly towards the ground, and gently returned the pressure of my hand. At this moment the moon unexpectedly burst through the clouds: her shadow alone was there,—she started, looked alarmed at me, then at the earth, as ifher eyes were asking for my shadow;—all her emotions were painted so faithfully on her countenance, that I should have burst into a loud laugh, had I not felt an icy dullness creeping over me.
She sunk down from my arms in a swoon. I flew like an arrow through the alarmed company, reached the door, threw myself into the first coach I found waiting there, and hurried back to the city, where, to my misfortune, I had left the foresighted Bendel. He was startled at seeing me—a word told all. Post-horses were instantly ordered. I took only one of my servants with me, an interested villain called Rascal, who had learned to make himself useful by his dexterity, and who could suspect nothing of what had occurred. We travelled a hundred miles before night. Bendel was left behind to dismiss my household, to distribute my money by paying my debts, and to bring away what was most necessary. When he overtook me the next day, I threw myself into his arms, solemnly promising to commit no farther folly, but to be more discreet in future. We continued our journey without interruption, passing over the chain of mountains which formed the frontier; and only when on the descent, and separated by the highbastions from the land so fatal to my peace, did I allow myself to be comforted, and hastened away to a watering-place in the vicinity, where I sought repose from my disappointments and my sorrows.
I must hurry rapidly over a part of my history, on which I should rejoice to linger, if I could invoke the living spirit of departed time. But the beautiful associations which animated it once, and which alone could animate its memory, are now extinguished within me. When I seek them—that influence which ruled so mightily over my joys and sorrows—my mingled destiny,—I strike in vain against a rock, that gives out a living stream no longer; the divinity is fled. O how changed is the aspect of those days of old! My intention was now to act an heroic character; but it was badly studied, and I a novice on the stage, was forgetting my part while fascinated by a pair of blue eyes. In the intoxication of the scene, the parents seem eager to close the bargain, and the farce ends in a common mockery. And this is all! So stale, so unprofitable, and so melancholy are the revisitings of what beat once so nobly and proudly in my bosom. Mina! as I wept when I lost thee, even now I weep tohave lost thee within me. Am I become so old! Pitiful intellect of man! Oh, for a pulse-beat of those days, a moment of that consciousness,—but no! I am a solitary wave in the dark and desolate sea: and the sparkling glass I drank was drugged with misery.
I had previously sent Bendel with bags of gold to fit out a dwelling suitable for me in the town. He had scattered about a great deal of money, and talked mysteriously of the illustrious stranger whom he had the honour to serve (for I did not choose to be named), and this filled the good people with strange notions. As soon as the house was ready for me, Bendel returned to convey me thither. We started immediately.
About an hour’s distance from the place, on a sunny plain, a great number of persons in gala dresses arrested our progress. The coach stopped: music, bell-ringing, and cannonading were heard; a loud acclamation rent the air, and a chorus of singularly beautiful maidens in white robes appeared at the door of the carriage, one of whom, surpassing the rest as the sun surpasses in brightness the stars of evening, stepped forward, and with graceful and modest blushes knelt before me, and presented to me on a silken cushion a wreath of laurel,olive, and rose branches, garlanded together, while she uttered some words, which I understood not, of majesty, awe, and love, whose soft and silver tones enchanted my ear and my bosom: it seemed to me as if the heavenly apparition had once glided before me in other days. The chorus began, and sang the praise of a good monarch, and the happiness of his people.
And this happened, my friend, in the bright sunshine: she continued to kneel some two steps before me, and I, shadowless, dared not spring over the gulf, that I might fall on my knees in her angelic presence. What would I not have given in that moment for a shadow! I was obliged to conceal my shame, my anguish, my despair, by sinking back into the carriage. Bendel relieved me from my embarrassment: he leaped out from the other side—I called him back—and gave him out of my little casket, which lay close at hand, a rich diamond crown which was intended to adorn the lovely Fanny. He moved forward, and spoke in his master’s name, “who neither could,” he said, “nor would accept such flattering marks of honour; there must have been some error, though he could not but thank the worthy townspeople for their expressions of kindness.” He thentook the garland of flowers from its place, and put there instead of it the crown of diamonds. His hand assisted the beautiful maiden to rise, and with a look of dignity he sent away the clergy, magistrates and deputies. Nobody was allowed a farther audience. He bade the crowd retire, and make room for the horses, and flung himself into the carriage, and off we went in a rapid gallop to the town, through the arches of flowers and laurels which had been erected. The cannon continued to thunder—the coach at last reached my abode. I turned hastily through the door, dividing the assembly who had gathered together to see me. The mob cried, “God bless him!” under my window; and I ordered double ducats to be scattered among them. At night the town was spontaneously illuminated.
And I knew not yet what all this meant, nor who I was imagined to be. I sent out Rascal to get information. He discovered that the people believed they had certain information that the good king of Prussia was travelling through the country, under the title of count;—that my adjutant had been recognized, and had discovered both himself and me;—in a word, that infinite joy had been felt at the certainty of having me among them. They hadascertained, indeed, that as I wished to preserve the strictestincognito, it had been wrong to draw up the veil so intrudingly;—but as I had expressed my displeasure with so much graciousness and kindness, surely my generous heart could forgive them.
It was so excellent a joke for my scoundrel servant, that he did as much as possible by his sharp remonstrances to confirm the good people in their opinions. He gave me a most amusing account of his proceedings; and as he saw it animated me, he thought to add to my enjoyment by a display of his own knavish tricks. Shall I confess it? I was not a little flattered by even the illusion of being mistaken for the head of the kingdom.
I ordered a feast to be provided on the following evening, under the trees which overshadowed the expanse in front of my house, and the whole town to be invited. The mysterious virtue of my purse, the exertions of Bendel, and the dexterous contrivances of Rascal, succeeded in doing wonders in the trifling space of time. It is really astonishing how richly and beautifully everything was arranged in so short a period. Such pomp and superfluity were exhibited there, and the richly-fanciful illuminations were so admirably managed, thatI felt quite at ease; I had nothing to find fault with, and I could not but praise the diligence of my servants.
Evening darkness came on; the guests appeared, and were introduced to me. The word “majesty” was no more whispered; but I often heard, uttered in deep awe and humility, “the Count.” What could I do? The word count satisfied me, and from that moment I was Count Peter. But in the midst of the festive crowd I sought but one; at last she appeared; shewasthe crown, and she wore it. She followed her parents modestly, and seemed not to know that she was the loveliest of the assemblage. The forest-master, his wife, and daughter were introduced. I said much that was agreeable and obliging to the old people; but I stood before their daughter like a checked boy, and could not utter a single word. At last I stammered forth a request that she would honour the festival by undertaking that office whose badge she bore. With a touching look she begged blushingly that I would excuse her; but more abashed before her than she herself, I, as her first subject, offered her my humble tribute; and my glance served as a command to all the guests, each of whom seemed anxious to meet it. Overthis joyful festivity presided majesty, innocence, and grace allied with beauty. Mina’s happy parents believed that out of respect for them, their child had been elevated to these unexpected honours, and I was in an unspeakable transport of joy. I ordered every thing that was left of the jewels, pearls, and precious stones which I had purchased with my perplexing piles of wealth, to be placed in two covered dishes, and distributed in the name of the queen among her playfellows and the ladies present; and I ordered gold to be thrown over the border fence among the joyous crowds. On the following morning, Bendel communicated to me, in confidence, that the suspicions he had formed against Rascal’s integrity were fully confirmed; he had yesterday purloined several bags of gold. “Let us not envy,” I replied, “the poor devil this trifling booty; I scatter my money about profusely, why not to him? Yesterday, he and everybody else served me nobly, and arranged a delightful festivity.” Nothing further was said about it; Rascal continued to be my head-servant, and Bendel my friend and confidant. He had imagined my wealth to be inexhaustible, and he cared not to inquire into its source. Entering into my feelings, he assisted me to findout constant occasions to display my wealth, and to spend it. Of the unknown, pale, sneaking fellow, he only knew that without him I could not get released from the curse which bound me, and that I dreaded the man on whom my only hope reposed. Besides, I was now convinced he could discover me anywhere, while I could find him nowhere; so that I determined to abandon a fruitless inquiry, and to await the promised day.
The magnificence of the festival, and my condescension there, confirmed the obstinately-credulous inhabitants in their first opinion of my dignity. It appeared very soon, notwithstanding, in the newspapers, that the reported journey of the king was wholly without foundation. But I had been a king, and a king I was unfortunately compelled to remain; and certainly I was one of the richest and kingliest who had ever appeared. But what king could I be? The world has never had cause to complain of any scarcity of monarchs, at least in our days; and the good people, who had never seen one with their own eyes, first fixed on one, and then, equally happily, on another; but Count Peter continued to be my name.
There once appeared among the visitors to the baths, a merchant who had made himselfa bankrupt in order to get rich, and he enjoyed the general esteem; he was accompanied by a broad, palish shadow. He wished ostentatiously to display the wealth he had acquired, and he determined to be my rival. I applied to my bag. I drove on the poor devil at such a rate, that in order to save himself he was obliged to become a bankrupt a second time. Thus I got rid of him; and by similar means I created in this neighbourhood many an idler and a vagabond.
Though I thus lived in apparent kingly pomp and prodigality, my habits at home were simple and unpretending. With thoughtful foresight, I had made it a rule that no one except Bendel, should on any pretence enter the chamber which I occupied. As long as the sun shone I remained there locked in. People said, “the count is engaged in his cabinet.” The crowds of couriers were kept in communication by these occupations, for I dispatched and received them on the most trifling business. At evening, alone, I received company under the trees, or in my saloon, which was skilfully and magnificently lighted, according to Bendel’s arrangement. Whenever I went out Bendel watched round me with Argus’ eyes; my steps were always tending to the forester’s garden,and that only for the sake ofher; the inmost spirit of my existence was my love.
My good Chamisso, I will hope you have not forgotten what love is! I leave much to your filling up. Mina was indeed a love-worthy, good, and gentle girl; I had obtained full possession of her thoughts; and in her modesty she could not imagine how she had become worthy of my regard, and that I dwelt only upon her; but she returned love for love, in the full youthful energy of an innocent heart. She loved like a woman; all self-sacrificing, self-forgetting, and living only in him who was her life, careless even though she should perish: in a word, she truly loved.
But I—oh, what frightful moments!—frightful! yet worthy to be recalled. How often did I weep in Bendel’s bosom, after I recovered from the first inebriety of rapture! how severely did I condemn myself, that I, a shadowless being, should seal, with wily selfishness, the perdition of an angel, whose pure soul I had attached to me by lies and theft! Now I determined to unveil myself to her; now, with solemn oaths, I resolved to tear myself from her, and to fly; then again I broke out into tears, and arranged with Bendel for visiting her in the forest-garden again in the evening.
Sometimes I allowed myself to be flattered with the hopes of the now nearly approaching visit of the unknown, mysterious old man; and wept anew when I recollected that I had sought him in vain. I had reckoned the day when I was again to expect to see that awful being. He had said a year and a day; and I relied on his word.
Mina’s parents were good, worthy old people, loving their only child most tenderly; the whole affair had taken them by surprise, and, as matters stood, they knew not how to act. They could never have dreamed that Count Peter should think of their child; but it was clear he loved her passionately, and was loved in return. The mother, indeed, was vain enough to think of the possibility of such an alliance, and to prepare for its accomplishment; but the calm good sense of the old man never gave such an ambitious hope a moment’s consideration. But they were both convinced of the purity of my love, and could do nothing but pray for their child.
A letter is now in my hand which I received about this time from Mina. This is her very character. I will copy it for you.
“I know I am a weak, silly girl; for I have taught myself to believe my beloved would notgive me pain, and this because I deeply, dearly love him. Alas! thou art so kind, so unutterably kind! but do not delude me. For me make no sacrifice—wish to make no sacrifice. Heaven! I could hate myself if I caused thee to do so. No, thou hast made me infinitely happy; thou hast taught me to love thee. But go in peace! my destiny tells me Count Peter is not mine, but the whole world’s; and then I shall feel proudly as I hear: ‘That it was he—and he again—that he had done this—that he has been adored here, and deified there.’ When I think of this, I could reproach thee for forgetting thy high destinies in a simple maiden. Go in peace, or the thought will make me miserable—me, alas! who am so happy, so blessed through thee. And have not I entwined in thy existence an olive-branch and a rose-bud, as in the garland which I dared to present thee? Think of thyself, my beloved one; fear not to leave me, I should die so blessed—so unutterably blessed, through thee.”
“I know I am a weak, silly girl; for I have taught myself to believe my beloved would notgive me pain, and this because I deeply, dearly love him. Alas! thou art so kind, so unutterably kind! but do not delude me. For me make no sacrifice—wish to make no sacrifice. Heaven! I could hate myself if I caused thee to do so. No, thou hast made me infinitely happy; thou hast taught me to love thee. But go in peace! my destiny tells me Count Peter is not mine, but the whole world’s; and then I shall feel proudly as I hear: ‘That it was he—and he again—that he had done this—that he has been adored here, and deified there.’ When I think of this, I could reproach thee for forgetting thy high destinies in a simple maiden. Go in peace, or the thought will make me miserable—me, alas! who am so happy, so blessed through thee. And have not I entwined in thy existence an olive-branch and a rose-bud, as in the garland which I dared to present thee? Think of thyself, my beloved one; fear not to leave me, I should die so blessed—so unutterably blessed, through thee.”
You may well imagine how these words thrilled through my bosom. I told her I was not that which I was supposed to be; I was only a wealthy, but an infinitely-wretched man. There was, I said, a curse upon me, which should be the only secret between her and me;for I had not yet lost the hope of being delivered from it. This was the poison of my existence: That I could have swept her away with me into the abyss; her, the sole light, the sole bliss, the sole spirit of my life. Then she wept again that I was so unhappy. She was so amiable, so full of love! How blessed had she felt to have offered herself up in order to spare me a single tear!
But she was far from rightly understanding my words: she sometimes fancied I was a prince pursued by a cruel proscription; a high and devoted chief, whom her imagination loved to depicture, and to give to her beloved one all the bright hues of heroism.
Once I said to her, “Mina, on the last day of the coming month, my doom may change and be decided; if that should not happen I must die, for I cannot make thee miserable.” She wept, and her head sunk upon my bosom. “If thy doom should change, let me but know thou art happy; I have no claim upon thee—but shouldst thou become miserable, bind me to thy misery, I will help thee to bear it.”
“Beloved maiden! withdraw—withdraw the rash, the foolish word which has escaped thy lips. Dost thou know what is my misery? dost thou know what is my curse? That thybeloved—what he? Dost thou see me shuddering convulsively before thee, and concealing from thee—” She sunk sobbing at my feet, and renewed her declaration with a solemn vow.
I declared to the now approaching forest-master, my determination to ask the hand of his daughter for the first day of the coming month. I fixed that period, because in the meanwhile many an event might occur which would have great influence on my fortunes. My love for his daughter could not but be unchangeable.
The good old man started back, as it were, while the words escaped from Count Peter’s lips. He fell upon my neck, and then blushed that he had so far forgotten himself. Then he began to doubt, to ponder, to inquire; he spoke of dowry, of security for the future for his beloved child. I thanked him for reminding me of it. I told him I wished to settle and live a life free from anxiety, in a neighbourhood where I appeared to be beloved. I ordered him to buy, in the name of his daughter, the finest estates that were offered, and refer to me for the payment. A father would surely best serve the lover of his child. This gave him trouble enough, for some stranger or other always forestalledhim: but he bought for only the amount of about a million florins.
The truth is, this was a sort of innocent trick to get rid of him, which I had already once done before: for I must own he was rather tedious. The good mother, on the contrary, was somewhat deaf, and not, like him, always jealous of the honour of entertaining the noble Count.
The mother pressed forward. The happy people crowded around me, entreating me to lengthen the evening among them. I dared not linger a moment: the moon was rising above the twilight of evening: my time was come.
Next evening I returned again to the forest-garden. I had thrown my broad mantle over my shoulders, my hat was slouched over my eyes. I advanced towards Mina; as she lifted up her eyes and looked at me, an involuntary shudder came over her. The frightful night in which I had shown myself shadowless in the moonlight, returned in all its brightness to my mind. It was indeed she! Had she, too, recognized me? She was silent and full of thought. I felt the oppression of a nightmare on my breast. I rose from my seat; she threw herself speechless on my bosom. I left her.
But now I often found her in tears; my soul grew darker and darker, while her parents seemed to revel in undisturbed joy. The day so big with fate rolled onwards, heavy and dark, like a thunder-cloud. Its eve had arrived, I could scarcely breathe. I had been foresighted enough to fill some chests with gold. I waited for midnight:—it tolled.
And there I sat, my eyes directed to the hand of the clock; the seconds, the minutes, as they tinkled, entered me like a dagger. I rose up at every sound I heard. The day began to dawn; the leaden hours crowded one on another; it was morning—evening—night. The hands of the timepiece moved slowly on, and hope was departing. It struck eleven, and nothing appeared. The last minutes of the last hour vanished—still nothing appeared; the first stroke—the last stroke oftwelvesounded. I sank hopeless on my couch in ceaseless tears. To-morrow—shadowless for ever!—to-morrow I should solicit the hand of my beloved. Towards morning a heavy sleep closed my eyes.
Schlemihl in his room